At the Dog Park by Michael Ceraolo

It’s maybe a mile or so

east of the mouth of the creek,

                                             and,

though not yet recognized as such

by the local municipal authority,

the property owners (the local hospice)

have acknowledged reality and posted signs

about keeping your dog on a leash

(there are fences on three sides,

the fourth side is the lake

                                        Interestingly,

the property on the outside of the fence,

though having the same owner,

has signs posted prohibiting dog walking)

It is one of the last days of winter,

                                                  yet

the temperature is twenty degrees above normal,

though the lake remains shrouded in fog

even in the late morning

None of the deciduous trees have bloomed yet;

on the ground are last year’s

oak and maple leaves and sweetgum balls

in various states of decay

The concrete drive is badly cracked,

                                                     leading

to a garage-like building

with four bays in front:

three of the bay doors slide up and down

while the fourth has been removed for repairs

There are three bays in the rear of the building

that each have a two-door covering

where the doors open out,

                                       and

there are similar covering on the windows

There is a residential structure

next to the garage, left over

from when the property was a religious retreat;

the basement and first-floor windows

and most of the second-floor windows

have been replaced with wood

There is a winding asphalt walkway,

covered with moss in many places,

and periodically interspersed

with half-circles of brick

There is an asphalt lot

on the east end of the property,

                                              probably

a parking lot at one time,

                                    though

now the front gate is kept locked

to keep out vehicle traffic,

                                       and

two large piles of wood chips

sit near the lot’s center

Last weekend the baseball team

from the Catholic high school next door

was practicing on the asphalt

and adjacent grass,

                              with

the weather much less hospitable

There is another paved path

that starts and ends with no

particular rhyme or reason;

perhaps a remnant from when

a sanitarium occupied the property

I try to pick a time

when no one else is here,

                                      or

at least when certain others

are not here,

                   because

their dogs are too aggressive,

even violent,

to be let off the leash

Michael Ceraolo is a 64-year-old retired firefighter/paramedic and active poet who has had two full-length books (Euclid Creek, from Deep Cleveland Press; 500 Cleveland Haiku, from Writing Knights Press) published, and has two more in the publication pipeline.